Touch
by Inarae
Summary: RG Veda. pre manga, Ashura and Taishakuten have an uneasy relationship. . .


FIRE 

A RG Veda/Seiden fanfic by Inarae

All rights relating to RG Veda belong to CLAMP and anyone they have gifted with rights to it, which does not include me.

Rating:  I'm going to say R for violence, because that is definitely the tone, even if it doesn't exactly happen.  Shonen-Ai.  Oh come on, there has to be a better word than boy's love for Taishakuten talking about wanting King Ashura without them actually having sex.  They are most definitely not boys.  Um, in case you missed it, this is about two men being in love, one of who is a violent bastard.  Don't read if either violence or slash bothers you.

Fair warning:  I read all of RG Veda in the original Japanese.  And although I read Japanese well enough to read through it pretty much without problems, there are areas I didn't understand and was just too lazy to get out a dictionary for.  I know there are translations, but I prefered to read it on my own.  I also read it years ago, and it's kinda fuzzy in my mind.  So there may be some continuity flaws, which I apologize for.

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Fire forges metal into a blade.  It sustains life through winter darkness.  And in a world of glass, it melts everyone it touches.

I could feel it inside the gentle, quiet man; a burning delight of the sort that convinces warriors to lick their opponent's blood off the steel of their blade before the other's dying eyes.  It's heat and vivaciousness drew me to him, making the casual bedroom games of power I had previously indulged in to revel in my own superiority seem pale and tame.

                My apartments used to be filled with weaponry and statues of ancient heroes molded from heavy bronze.  After I met King Ashura, I added a delicate flower of spun glass, no larger than my hand.  When it broke, the shards would be as sharp and deadly as any of my swords, I knew.  

                I am not a nice person.  I am very much not a nice person.  I have but one desire, and that is power, success.  I see no glory in tender flowers that die upon the onset of winter.  In the winter, all their dried stalks are good for is fuel for the fire that keeps me warm.  What do the others think is the point of these little power games we play?  The ladies in their gorgeous robes and jewels, the men with their poetry and physical prowess, we all have the same goal: to win the heart and soul of a powerful follower or a patron.  To be the one warmed by the fire in the winter, not the fuel.

                And winter is coming.  All the prophets have foreseen it.  The world is already descending into chaos with the dying of the law.  Even the emperor is not immune to the slick temptations that will destroy us.  But they do not acknowledge it.  What do they plan to do then, laugh sweetly at death as it comes to claim them?    I will laugh, but it will be as death's head rolls at my feet.

                They have forgotten that the wheel of stars turns constantly, and the bland flowers of our life now will eventually wither and die in the harsh heat of the summer sun.  Soon I shall ascend.

                I smile and arch my back, feeling the layers of muscle flex pleasurably under my skin.  I am strong, like the bronzed steel of the armor I wear so lightly    Someday, I will show him that strength.  

He sees no attraction in it though, unfortunately.  He has his own strength, power to rival mine, but unlike me, he takes no glory or comfort in his abilities.  I revel in being a creature of steel in a world of glass, but he sorrows in the knowledge that his fire may burn it to ashes. 

He is more arrogant than I, in that.  I am aware that when I finally show the world my power, a few will die.  He thinks that the use of his true power will eradicate all of existence.  

                He is young and naive, but no fool.  Is it possible that his fear and coward-like hesitance is justified?  Could he possibly be that much more powerful than I?   Ahh, thinking it just makes me want him more.  Such a gentle, fragile countenance for the demonic god of war.  Such unassuming beauty for the fire I would use to forge myself into a perfect blade.

                A pity that I have nothing he desires.  

Taishakuten

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Gulp.  Ok, I really need to write more cheerful stuff.  I promised myself a while back never to go into a angst funk, and now I have . . . I may write one of these from Ashura's perspective as he makes that little deal with Taishakuten later.  Thanks for reading, C&C welcome and enjoyed.

Inarae

ginabrae@aol.com


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